talking body
by killians-dimples
Summary: Guitar player Killian Jones has been in love with media agent Emma Swan for far too long. When he comes back to his bus post-concert, she is sitting on the couch, her own bunk being used as temporary storage.
1. Chapter 1

He's still buzzing with adrenaline as he makes his way back to the bus tucked in the corner, a few people still milling about the near empty fairgrounds. There's a brisk wind rolling in and he shoves his hands further into his sweatshirt, wondering if it will be warmer in New York, conceding that it probably won't.

His hood is up so he doesn't have to worry about being recognized, but a few of the guys who clear equipment give him a nod as he passes – a pat on the shoulder as he smiles and tries not to feel the heat in his ears at the quiet praise.

It was a good show.

So good he still feels the music thrumming through his bones, the rise and fall of it as the crowd sang along – the prickling in his fingers from where he practically worked them to the bone against the guitar. He'll have fresh blisters tomorrow, but it's worth it. Just like the exhaustion and the long days and even longer nights are all worth it. The bus, however –

The bus is almost not worth it.

They aren't big enough to command separate busses quite yet, just the one for management and equipment and the other for "Talent", as the shoddy label on the door dictates. He's not sure all those aboard the bloody monstrosity classify as such, but he sighs and presses his forehead against the door regardless, taking in his last deep, guzzling breaths of fresh air before stepping inside.

He does not expect to see Emma sitting on the couch, hair in a messy ponytail and glasses sliding down her nose.

(He does expect the flip in his stomach that reminds him how well and truly fucked he is for this woman every time he does see her though – the way he feels like he's just stepped off the ledge of a 400 foot building.)

"Evening, Swan." She doesn't look up from her book and it's only after he lets the door close behind him that she peers up, scrambling from her place nestled in the corner of the couch and taking out her earbuds. She shrugs sheepishly with a nod to the back of the bus, coiling the headphones in her hand in sure, practiced movements.

"Sorry, I was - " She glances towards the bunks with a grimace. "Trying to drown out sounds."

He forces a tight smile, rocking back onto his heels. No doubt the lads have been rather -enthusiastic - in their post concert rituals. "Ah, yes."

She chuckles and falls back onto the couch, pulling her legs beneath 's wearing the socks with little ducks on them that Dave got her for Christmas, and it makes him grin. "Is it alright if I crash on your couch tonight? Equipment decided to use my bunk as a storage spot for your guitars."

An interesting blush brushes across her cheeks at that, the wrinkle between her brows deepening as she shifts. He's not sure in what realm he would manage to sleep soundly with her in such close proximity, but he's sure as hell willing to try if it means she's there when he wakes up - sleepy eyes and mussed hair, pillow creases against her cheek.

"Aye, s'not a problem." He yanks his hood of his head and ruffles his hand through his hair, little droplets of water scattering across the counter. "But you're not sleeping on the couch. You can take my bunk."

She shakes her head, the pink on her cheeks flushing to a deep red. "No, Killian -

"I insist."

"The couch is fine. I can just - "

"Sleep in my bed and - "

"I don't want to inconvenience you - "

"Emma."

"And you just had a show - "

"It's not a big deal it's just a - "

"How about we share?"

She spits it out in a rush over their jumble of voices and he freezes in his dawdling with the magazines on the countertop, straightening them from the haphazard stack Robin has left them in. He blinks at her once, twice, and wonders if he's imagined her suggestion. "The beds are very small, love."

A flicker of something dances behind her green eyes and she looks down, dragging her thumb along her knee. "Yeah, sorry. I'll just - "

Later, he'll regret his words. At the moment, however, all he can think about is what she could possibly feel like beneath his sheets, her legs tangled with his.

"No, it's fine." He arches an eyebrow in what he hopes is a cocky wiggle, but in reality is probably a desperate plea for her to show him mercy. "We can have a good cuddle, yeah?"

She hums under her breath, already standing and brushing past him, making her way to his bunk in the back.

"Thanks, Killian."

He's a fool.

She's wearing the leggings he loathes with every fiber of his being – the ones that hug the curve of her ass like a bloody second skin. The ones he wants to drag down over her hips with his teeth. He swallows hard and looks at the ceiling as she crawls her way into his bunk, wondering how exactly he plans on making it through this night without ruining the past four years of their friendship.

There is a rustle of the covers and then he ducks down to follow her, lifting the edge of the blanket and sliding in. There's no way he can't not touch her with as cramped as the bed is, but he does his damndest, not wanting to seem too forward or make her uncomfortable or –

"Killian." Her voice is a whisper and he can feel her breath against his cheek. Fucking hell. The smell of honey and cinnamon is amplified in the tiny space and he wants to strangle himself with the curtain he just pulled shut – anything to keep the desire from pooling low in his gut. "You don't have to balance on the edge. It's okay, uh, if – " She shifts so she's on her side, her back pressed against the wall and he pulls himself a bit closer to her, mirroring her pose with his arm beneath the pillow. The dim lights of the parking lot filter in through the slots in the curtain and make her skin glow, her eyes bright in the dark space. He wants to kiss the pretty blush on her cheeks. He wants to see how far down it goes.

He wants to punch himself in the face for agreeing to this.

She bites her lip and scrunches her nose. "You're not very comfortable, are you?"

He stifles a laugh, grin pulling at his lips. "It's not very often I share my quarters, Swan."

An eyebrow quirks up at that, her body shifting until her hands are tucked in front of her and her cheek is pressed into his pillow. He wonders if it will smell like her after she leaves. "Is that so?"

"Is what so?"

"The rest of the guys – " She gestures above her to where he can vaguely hear Will snoring. " – are active in their post-concert activities."

"Oh, that." He's familiar with the hoard of eager women who crowd around the bus following their shows - it's why he takes his walks. Because there's only one woman he wants and she's not leaning up outside the bus post-show unless Will has somehow managed to piss of a whole legion of media members (it's been known to happen) and Emma is without her rounds. He fights the urge to scratch behind his ear and her lips twitch. "Aye, well I assure you, love. You're the first in my bed." He blinks, suddenly conscious of how that sounds. "Not that I'm saying – not that I'm saying that – "

She rolls her eyes, but the smile that curls her lips is one of his favorites. It's a rare sight to behold, only visible when they're recording and he manages to catch her watching through the little glass window, or when he fetches her a coffee when she's nose deep in media requests – squirreled away from the rest of the world in her tiny office at the studio with her phone pressed to her ear, a little red indent left in her jaw when she pulls it back and mouthsthank you with her delectable pink lips.

Pink lips that he's trying very hard not to stare at.

"I know what you're saying." She shifts and her foot accidentally comes in contact with his leg, a huff of annoyance puffing against his arm when he shifts back and his leg slips off the mattress. She frowns. "Do you think we could - "

"Like this?" He leans up on his elbow as she maneuvers, trying to find a position where he doesn't end up pressed against her from knee to neck. He rolls onto his back as she flips around and he gets an elbow in his shoulder. "Bloody hell, Swan, what the - "

"Well if you stayed still for a second - " She shifts again and narrowly misses kneeing him in the crotch.

"I don't know how much more still I can be while you - "

"While I what, Killian? While I what?"

He's careful to keep his voice low, conscious of his sleeping bandmates and their guests. "While you thrash about like a wounded animal." he grits out between clenched teeth.

She stares at him in silent indignation, and then slowly and succinctly, flicks him in the forehead. The hot curl of challenge presses at the base of his spine as he raises his hand, hesitating for only a moment before flicking her back right between her eyebrows.

The wrestling match that ensues is inevitable.

(Once, on a sticky hot night in Alabama, she had flicked him in the hollow of his throat after a not so gallant move with his poker hand and he had picked her up over his shoulder, carried her right out the door and threw her in the hotel pool. Her smile had been wide and her laughter loud as she clutched at his ankle and tugged him in after her, spitting a jet of water in his face when he surfaced.)

They end up tangled together on his tiny cot, his arm slung over her waist and her nose buried in his neck, her knee pressed between his and her foot hooked around his ankle. He's fairly certain he can feel her rapid heartbeat pressing against his own and he lets out a shaky exhale, willing his body to relax and not focus on the soft press of her breasts against his chest. Or the way she is radiating heat through the threadbare material of her t-shirt.

"This is actually kind of comfortable." she mutters somewhere beneath his chin and he bites the inside of his cheek against a string of curses.

"Aye," he manages, clearing his throat and smoothing his fingers between her shoulder blades, noting with despair that she does not seem to be wearing a bra.

Comfortable is one words for it. Complete and total agony is another. "It is."

-/-

He wakes oppressively hot, the blankets and Emma sprawled against him a raging inferno. He blinks sleepily and shifts his legs beneath the blanket, noting with a sluggish mind that only one seems available as Emma has the other trapped between hers, and kicks at the blankets until he can work it free. He breathes a sigh of relief at the slight change in body temperature, but he can still feel the sweat on his temple, at the nape of his neck.

Emma seems content with the pretzel they've managed to work themselves into, her hand clutched in the material at the back of his shirt and her hips pressed against his. The longer he lets himself consider the softness of her skin beneath his palm and the brush of her hair against his jaw is pure torture at this point, but his mind is slowly becoming more aware and if he's to have Emma in his bed just for the one night - well, he's damn well going to remember how her toes feel pressed up against his shin, how the ends of her hair tickle his jaw.

She shifts in her sleep, a tiny push of her hips against his that has him biting his tongue against his groan. He thinks of Dave in his skivvies to keep the arousal from rushing straight from his head right down to his groin - that time Robin decided he was going to streak through a college campus and he was scarred for life.

Emma shifts again, her mouth opening against his neck. He feels the slightest pressure, and then the scrape of teeth.

Bloody fucking hell.

She does it again, a brush of her lips with a tilt of her head, the tip of her tongue tracing a slow trail against the side of his neck. He can't help the muffled sound in the back of his throat, his hand on her back sliding down slightly, the tips of his fingers just barely brushing the curve of her ass and those infernal pants.

"Killian?" her whispered question is not the voice of one who has just woken up, but something dark and sure. "Are you awake?"

She presses her lips to his collarbone and he sucks a sharp breath in through his teeth. There is no fine line between intentional and accidental and she is severely testing his resolve. "What're you doing, love?"

Instead of answering she presses under his chin with her nose, the hand fisted in the back of his shirt sliding down and under until her palm rests against scorching skin. Her hands are cold, as they always are, and he jumps slightly at the press of her thumb at the base of his spine. He barely manages a glance down at wide green eyes before her lips are on his, soft and coaxing, sucking gently on his bottom lip.

His restraint snaps.

She gasps into his mouth when he tangles his hand in her hair, angling her head back and tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth. He's wanted her for close to three years now and he's in no mood to be gentle - not when she is pressed up against him in the tiny bed and kissing him like she damn well means it.

(God, he hopes she means it.)

The arm she has folded between them grips his shirt and pulls, his hips knocking into hers and his knee pressing up. She rocks against him with a push of her hips and he's hard in an instant, his tongue curling around hers as she tilts her head and digs her nose into his cheek.

He rolls her onto her back after she attempts to mask a particularly devastating whimper - a noise caught low in her throat and on his tongue, a shiver racing up his spine when his hips fall neatly in line with her own. He lets his lips wander from hers to the line of her jaw, the steady beat of her pulse in her neck that he's been eyeing for far too long.

She makes that noise again - the muffled sounding thing - and he knows she's trying to be quiet. But he doesn't want that. He wants every sigh and pant and moan. He wants to know what she sounds like when he holds the soft weight of her breast in his hand, thumb circling over her pebbled flesh until she arches into him. He wants to know what she sounds like when he closes his teeth over her collarbone, how she sighs his name when he slides into her.

He dips his hips down into hers and she sighs, dropping her head back and circling her legs around his waist. She's a vision beneath him - flushed cheeks in the muted light that filters in through the heavy curtain, eyes closed, hair half falling out of her ponytail. She tangles her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck as he continues his steady rocking above her, his cock pressing between her thighs in long, languid strokes.

He's imagined this scenario a million times and yet the way she bites her lip, the way her eyelashes flutter against the apple of her cheeks while her mouth moves with silent sounds into the space between them - his daydreams and imaginings are nothing compared to the way her eyes look when she wants.

She blinks her eyes open when he circles his hips in a dirty grind, her hand still at the base of his spine, pressing him down into her.

"I have a confession." she whispers into his ear when she pulls him down to her, her mouth hot against his ear. She tugs on his earlobe with her teeth and he almost comes undone, her tongue toying with the black earring he always wears.

(The one that is a perfect match for the one she wears in her own. The one she gave him a drunken night in Memphis, smile dancing on her lips and her fingers sure as she pressed it into his ear.)

"And what's that?" his voice is no more than a rough growl under his breath and he's so far gone for her, for the way she moves with him and against him. The tension coils tighter in his belly and he knows that he could quite easily come like this, moving against her through his shorts and her leggings, the soft material keeping him from her wet heat.

"Maybe, oh - " she cuts off on a gasp when he slides his hand from her hip around to her back, pressing under her pants and cupping her bare ass to pull her more firmly into him. She's not wearing underwear, and he curses under his breath when she rocks back into him, crossing her ankles and riding him from below.

He drops his forehead to her shoulder and licks at a bead of sweat making its way between her breasts. "You were saying?"

"Maybe my bunk wasn't occupied. Maybe I came over here because I wanted to be brave, mm, god - " It seems he's found a particularly good spot because her legs are shaking on either side of his hips, her hand clenching tight in his hair. "Please. Fuck, Killian, I - "

"Shhh," he presses his lips softly to hers, angling his hips until she sinks her teeth into his neck, fist tugging his hair with more force. "I'll take care of you, love."

He'll consider her words later, when he can't feel the heat of her against his cock, her hips pushing into his in earnest as she chases her release. He drops to his forearm and noses at the deep v in her shirt until his tongue finds her nipple, sucking her soft flesh into his mouth and dragging his teeth against her.

She comes with her mouth against his jaw, his name exhaled on a sigh.

He comes with his face between her breasts, her name traced into her skin.

As soon as his heart stops running like mad in his chest he pushes back on his forearms above her, sliding his hand out of her pants and tracing the line of her arm instead. Her smile is sleepy and sated, and he's pleased to not see a hint of anxiety or regret in her delicate features.

"Do you want me to scratch behind your ear for you?" The dimple in her chin flashes with her grin. "You look like you want to."

"Apologies, lass, I just - "

"Elsa tells me you've wanted for me for a long time. And maybe I've wanted you, too." Despite having just dry humped one another to completion like a pair of horny teenagers, a pretty blush climbs her cheeks, a bashful smile curling the corners of her lips. "I came over here because I wanted this to happen."

He arches an eyebrow at that. "Are you saying you took advantage of my chivalrous nature?"

She shrugs, scrunching one eyes shut, and he's sure he's never loved her more. "Maybe?"

He chuckles, a deep rumble that's far too loud in the silence of the bus. She claps her hand over his mouth with wide eyes, her own silent chuckles shaking her beneath him.

He licks her palm and she rolls her eyes.

"You should get cleaned up." she whispers. He smirks, and her blush deepens.

"All the times I thought about this, and there were many," he dips his head down and sucks lightly at the place beneath her ear. She groans and tilts her head to the side, giving him more room to work. He grins. "I never imagined it being beneath Will bloody Scarlet."

This time it's her laugh that is far too loud.


	2. Chapter 2

_Bed, stay in bed  
The feeling of your skin locked in my head _

_-/-_

There are more inconspicuous places to meet than the little alcove backstage to the left at the conclusion of his show – definitely better hiding spots than the flimsy black curtain that has seen better days – but she can't help it. Not when he's got a light sheen of sweat and his hair is a mess and he's practically vibrating with post-concert adrenaline.

Not when he's forcing noises from the back of her throat with his teeth against her neck and his hands slowly inching up the hem of her skirt.

"Killian," he nips sharply at her pulse point, palms pressed flat against the back of her thighs and pulling abruptly, balancing her carefully on top of a speaker and spreading her knees to make way for his hips nestled against hers. She bites back a moan before deciding it's a useless fight, her hand clenching in the damp material of his t-shirt as she arches her back. "We can't do this here."

He ignores her (pretty half-assed, if she's being honest) plea and drags his mouth along her jaw instead, his hands wandering up against her tights until his fingertips reach the place where the stretchy band of her thigh-highs meets warm skin, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth.

"Are these for me?"

She pushes lightly against his shoulders, ignoring the rough grit in his voice and the way it slips along her skin, sliding off the top of the speaker when he reluctantly steps back. As much as she would love to continue this, they've already been gone ten minutes and she doesn't trust Will alone with the media.

"No, they're for me." She shimmies her skirt back down over the swell of her hips and tries to ignore the thrumming between her thighs. They haven't had more than furious makeouts and heavy petting since that night on the bus and to say she is frustrated would be the biggest fucking understatement of her life. She sighs and thumbs at a bit of lipstick clinging to his bottom lip. He nips at the pad of her thumb. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to pull tights up and down when you're trying to use the bathroom quickly between sets?"

He arches an eyebrow, a smirk already curling the corner of his mouth. "Nevermind." She forcibly turns him out of their hiding spot and into the dimming lights of the stage. "Don't answer that."

-/-

She's never been happier that WIll loves the clubs.

"Emma, you – _bloody fucking hell _– " He drops his head back against the couch as she grinds down in his lap, the ridge of his erection pressing right where she is aching between her thighs. He looks delicious spread out like this, the long line of his neck just begging to be bitten, his hair a wild mess on the top of his head from her roaming hands. The buzz of liquor from pregaming with the guys is still strong in her blood and she just – she _wants_.

"We can't do this here." He pants, even as his hips rock up into hers.

"That's my line." She gives in to the urge to sink her teeth into his neck and sucks, laving her tongue against his skin and tasting the salt there.

"Emma." His fingers press down on her hips. "The first time I have you," he punctuates the statement with another brush of his thumbs against her hip bones. "It will not be on this bloody bus."

"Maybe," she brushes her lips against his, rocking in his hold. The lace of her underwear drags against his denim and her breath hitches, fingers clenching in the hair at the nape of his neck. She need more, just a little bit more, and she can finally ease the fire that's burning through her veins like a god damned lightning storm. "Maybe on this bus."

"No, I – " he grunts when she slides her palm under the hem of his shirt, her fingers curling around the hem of his jeans. "I w-want it to be special."

She snorts. "The first time we kissed," she noses at his cheek and presses herself more firmly into his lap, circling his wrist with one of her hands and tugging until she can pin it by his head. "We dry humped in your bunk like a couple of teenagers," she leans back and smiles. "And you're waiting for sex because you want it to be special?"

He shrugs, the tips of his ears turning pink, lips turning down in a frown. He looks sufficiently chastised and a wave of regret washes cold over her shoulders, chasing away her buzz and leaving only a hollow ache in its place.

"I like you, Emma." His eyes dart up to hold hers before finding a place over her shoulder, his throat bobbing in a nervous swallow. "I mean, I really like you. And I thought that, uh – "

She drops her forehead to his, thumbing at the scar on his cheek he got that one summer when the equipment guy was a bit too overzealous with one of the microphone stands. "I like you, too." She sighs, pressing her nose further into his cheek and slumping limp in his lap. This man will be the death of her and yet – "We can wait."

He chuckles, shoulders relaxing beneath her, his lips brushing her ear lobe. "Well, I know the lads will be a while yet. We don't have to wait completely."

A lick of heat curls up her spine, his fingers inching along her thigh. "I thought you said you didn't want to have me on the bus."

"Aye." He swats lightly at her ass with the palm of his hand and she jolts in his arms, balancing on her knees above him as she fights to regain her equilibrium. He's grinning at her like the freaking cat that got the canary, a sly smirk on his lips that's at contrast with the blush staining his cheeks. She's just about to make a comment when he takes advantage of the space between their hips to run his fingertips along the inside of her thigh, brushing perilously close to where she is throbbing and wet.

"When I have you," he turns his hand beneath her skirt, his thumb brushing along the front of her panties in a slow press that has her squirming in his lap. "I want to be able to take my time." He hooks his thumb in the hem of her underwear and tugs, snapping the elastic against her 's suddenly reminded of tipsy summers spent poolside, his towel snapping at her skin as she flicked peanuts off the bamboo bar at the back of his neck.

"I want to hear every noise you make." He leans forward and presses his face between her breasts, gripping her underwear and sliding it down until it's stretched halfway down her thighs, held in place by her spread legs. She'd be embarrassed by her panting if she wasn't so fucking turned on. "I want to watch your face."

He slides his hand back up between her legs and they curse in unison when his palm presses against her, a low whimper under her breath when he taps his fingertips against her clit. She's already more than halfway there, circling her hips down into his grip while his other hand pulls at the hem of her tank top, lips sucking a bruise into the swell of her breast while his fingers gently trace over her.

"Killian – " He pulls his hand back and the noise that crawls out of her throat has him chuckling, blue eyes peering up at her from under thick lashes as he rests his chin against her chest. He watches her for several quiet, still seconds and she almost slips her hand underneath her skirt herself, finishing the job and finally relieving the pressure that's been building since he was above her in that damn tiny cot, pressing into her over and over and –

He skims his thumb over her again, a teasing touch that has her head dropping back, teeth clamping over her bottom lip.

"Easy, Swan." He grins, slow and dirty, his thumb pressing harder in a firm half-circle. "Easy."

"I'm not a horse." She seethes between clenched teeth, her eyes closed and head tipped back to the ceiling. She should have known he would tease her - the jackass. He snickers and pinches lightly at her clit before retreating again.

"Never said you were, darling."

"Then don't talk to me like I'm - oh _god_." He slips two fingers into her abruptly, his free hand anchoring at the back of her neck and pulling her down to crush his mouth to hers. His tongue slips around hers in a wet, sloppy, panting kiss as his fingers curl up and his palm grinds down and christ - if she had known this is what he felt like - if she had known this is how hot her blood would run with him stringing her higher and higher -

She would never have let him leave the damn cubby.

"That's it, love." He releases her mouth when she mutters his name, her head lolling back as she rides his hand. She feels the scrape of his teeth against her chest as he drags the neckline of her tanktop down, tongue pressing against her aching nipple and holding there, lips sucking and teeth clamping just the slightest bit as he shifts his hand - slips his fingers out of her only to push back in, harder this time, using his free hand to palm his erection in his jeans and then press on her hip, helping her move with him. He growls into her skin when she whimpers out some garbled version of his name and please - the churning heat in her belly building to a dull roar, her legs shaking on either side of his hips, his hand pushing her higher and higher.

"Fucking hell," he whispers and she grabs two fistfuls of his hair, stilling abruptly as the pleasure centers and then explodes out, her body curling in on itself and his as he helps her ride it out, thumb gentling over her swollen and sensitive flesh. When she can finally see colors and shapes again, she realizes he's pressing kisses to her chin and jaw, his hand splayed flat on her thigh beneath her skirt.

"I think I like you like this, Swan," he gently urges her up and helps her pull her underwear back into place, his tongue dancing along his bottom lip as he watches the lace move back up her thighs with damn near studious intent. She wonders if he likes that - if he would like having her with her clothes still half-on. Judging by that night on the bus, she can probably guess it's a firm yes. "All disheveled and flushed." He grins, suddenly a lot less suave motherfucker and much more preening schoolboy. He wiggles his eyebrows. "Satisfied."

She reaches between them for the obvious tent in his jeans, pressing against his erection through the thick denim. His eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones and his jaw goes slack, but he stills her hand with his, pressing a kiss to her knuckles with a shaky sigh.

"Don't think we have time for that, love." His grin is forced and tight, and as if on cue, her phone starts ringing. She rolls her eyes, clamboring off his lap and trying not to teeter too far to the left.

"We have a hotel stay in a week." His eyes flash a shade darker as she balances her phone between shoulder and ear. "Does that timetable work for you?"

He grins again.

-/-

Once, before the band made it big, they were at a bar somewhere in the middle of nowhere Mississippi, the summer heat hot and oppressive as they sipped on dollar beers and got stupid drunk off moonshine that may or may not have been legal. She remembers catching his eye that night over the bar and thinking - thinking that maybe there was something. Something in the heat of his gaze and the way his eyes lingered on her collarbones and then lower still, his tongue prodding against the inside of the cheek as he threw his head back with another shot, eyes half lidded and focused on her until Robin tumbled out of his bar stool, effectively distracting Killian and herself.

He had been looking at her, just for a second, like he wanted her.

It's the same way he's looking at her now.

Except this time she knows.

She's in no mood to play the waiting game tonight, her extra hotel key practically burning a hole in her back pocket. It's been close to a month since she's felt him moving above her, a week since she had fallen apart on his fingers, and her body is practically humming with need. She knows his is too - that intense concentration in his gaze every time her eyes meet his, the way his hand shakes against the small of her back when he helps her off the stage during rehearsals, how he practically throws her against the wall the second she dips back behind the curtain and he can cover her mouth with his.

She takes a healthy gulp of her rum and coke and tells herself to stop trying to burn a hole through his waistcoat with her eyes, losing herself in conversation with Elsa instead of counting down the moments they can go back to the hotel and finally have a moment alone. She brushes past him on her way to the bathroom and slides her extra key into his back pocket, ignoring the color on her cheeks and the way his fingertips trail against the inside of her arm, cold and wet from the condensation on his glass.

(She doesn't see the eye roll Will shoots David, the way David smiles into his glass while Robin snorts.)

She stares at herself in the mirror, rosy cheeks and bright eyes, shaking her head a bit at the stupid smile curling the corners of her lips. The anticipation of finally being with him curls in her chest and presses between her thighs, a thick, slow pulse of promise and want as she considers all the ways he can take her in her hotel room.

Maybe it's time to go.

She slips out the back door of the crowded bar, knowing that he will get the hint and follow as soon as he can. There is a brief flash of insecurity as she slides into the cab and gives the driver instructions, but she dashes it away before it has the chance to fester. For once in her life, she has something good. For once in her life, she has someone who actually cares.

(_"He's wanted you forever, Emma. You. All of you."_

_"Are you sure? What if - "_

_"You threw up on his shoes once and he still looks at you like you hung the goddamned moon. Christ, Emma."_)

She's just kicked off her shoes, her purse thrown to a corner of the room, when there's a knock at the door behind her. She frowns at it and then pulls it open with only slight hesitation, not wanting to get roped into some crazy fan trying to track down the band, slip them her phone number or worse.

(She's seen some things.)

But it isn't some rabid woman, decked out in head-to-toe gear. Instead it's Killian, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck as he shifts from foot to foot.

"Did you even wait five minutes?"

She holds the door open wider and he shuffles in. "Ah, no. I couldn't - " His eyes flash as his gaze lingers on her obviously bra-less chest and suddenly all hesitation is gone, his hand reaching for her hip as soon as the door closes behind him, stepping forward until her back is pressed firmly against it, hips pressed to hips. "I couldn't wait."

"Why didn't you use the key I gave you?"

His thumb smoothes along the band of her jeans, dipping lightly beneath the button and toying with the metal clasp. He doesn't move to undo it, just lightly runs the pad of his thumb back and forth over it.

"I didn't want to assume."

"You didn't - " She huffs, tangling her fingers in the charms around his neck and pulling until his mouth crashes into hers. It's quick and dirty and she smiles against his mouth when his hands clench on her hips. "What did you think I meant when I gave you my key?"

"Perhaps you wanted to have a cup of tea," he brushes his nose against hers and slips his thumb further in the waistband of her pants, sucking in a sharp breath when he finds only bare skin. "Swan?"

"Hm?" Her own hands are busy exploring the warm skin at the base of his spine, beneath his barely buttoned flannel.

"Are you not wearing any underwear?"

She drags her teeth along his bottom lip. "Maybe _I_ made some assumptions."

It's like she's suddenly flipped a switch, his fingers working to unbutton her jeans with his free hand while he cups her hotly against his palm. She's already wet, she knows this - she's been turned on since he arrived at the bar and started looking at her like he wanted to devour her, his eyes fixed on her tongue when she swiped at a drop of rum making it's way along the outside of her glass - and when he feels how ready she is for him he makes a desperate noise at the base of his throat, pressing his erection into her thigh.

"I know I said I wanted to take my time," he slips two fingers through her folds and she drops her head back against the door, a dull thump as she spreads her legs further apart. "But I believe I may have spoken too soon."

She tilts her head to the side and watches him as he watches his hand move beneath her pants. "Yeah?"

"Aye." Burning blue eyes blink up at her. "Take off your clothes."

A flash of heat rolls up her spine and over her shoulders as he steps back from her, working on the buttons of his shirt. He arches his eyebrow in silent question when she doesn't immediately move to take off her sweater, too busy instead watching him pull his belt from his jeans, tracing the thick line of hair that disappears beneath them.

She unzips her jeans and kicks them off, pulling her sweater over her head immediately after. It seems the no underwear idea was a good one because that heat from the bar is back ten-fold, his tongue tracing along his bottom lip as he lets his gaze drag down her body and back up again.

He makes sure to hold her eyes with his when he steps forward, jeans still slung low around his hips. "You're beautiful."

She huffs through her nose and reaches for him, trying to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him down to her but he resists, hand skimming up and thumb resting just under the curve of her breast. "No, Emma, I mean it." He drops a kiss to her jaw, her neck, the hollow of her throat. "You have no idea how beautiful you are."

"Okay, I believe you," she slides her hand down his chest and into his pants, wrapping her fingers around him, warm and straining beneath her palm. It seems she wasn't the only one who thought going commando was the way to go. His teeth clamp down on his bottom lip and he falls further into her, forehead against her shoulder. "Can we get to the good part now?"

"I see how it is," she can feel his grin against her collarbone. "You just wish to use me and toss me away, is that it?"

She finishes undoing his pants, letting her nails drag against his skin as she pushes the jeans down his hips. "No," she presses her palm flat against his chest, forcing him back and making sure this time he knows the sincerity in her words. Because she could hear the tremor in his voice that he was desperately trying to hide. A lost girl always recognizes a lost boy. "No, that's not it."

His eyes darken, palm pressing up until he's cupping the soft weight of her breast in his hand. His thumb swipes over her nipple as his tongue wets his lips and the ache between her legs blossoms, her need suddenly fierce and desperate.

"Killian, you said - " She drops her forehead to his, swaying in his hold.

"Aye."

His other hand grips her ass, hauling her against him, his cock trapped between their bodies and she's not sure she's ever wanted anyone as much as she wants him right now.

"I can't do slow, not right now." She breathes against his mouth, sucking lightly on his bottom lip. "We can do it later, or whatever, I just - "

He marches them backwards until the desk is at her knees and he hefts her up, spreading her thighs and slipping between them, angling her head back and kissing the air from her lungs. Two fingers slip into her heat with the same sure slide as that night on the bus and she leans back on her palms, hooking one leg around his hip as he sets about unraveling her.

"We can go slow later," he confirms, thumb joining his fingers and circling roughly at her clit. She clamps down on her bottom lip but he shakes his head, pressing at it with the pad of his thumb. "No, no. None of that." He leans forward and presses a kiss to her neck, dragging his mouth beneath her ear and tugging on her earlobe with his teeth.

"I do believe I said I wanted to hear you."

"_Fuck_, Killian."

"That's the ticket."

She shatters in an embarrassing short period of time, forcing him back with a strong push against his shoulders when he pays no heed to her whimpering pleas, just continues to move his fingers against her and within her. He stumbles and hits the lamp as she follows him, pushing him back again into the armchair by the bed and climbing onto his lap.

"You know there are rumors about rock stars and trashed hotel rooms."

She smiles into his mouth. "Well, I hear you know someone with media connections." The brush of his chest hair against her bare breasts is nothing short of perfection and she bites back a moan. "I can handle it."

"Are you sure you can - "

His teasing is cut off with a groan when her heat glides along his cock, a muttered curse beneath his breath when she reaches between them and takes him in hand.

"Emma, I can't - "

"Did you bring condoms?"

She lowers herself carefully above him, grinding along him without letting him slip inside. She trusts him implicitly, knows now that he doesn't sleep with the hoard of women who scream and throw their panties on the stage, but still -

"Aye, I just - " He grips her hips and helps her move above him, his eyes desperate and pleading. "Bloody hell, you feel good."

She could come again like this, rubbing against him and watching the way his chest heaves with every unsteady breath. He stares up at her with a clench of his jaw and then he's moving, sliding his hands around to cup her ass and lifting the both of them up, practically throwing her on the bed before striding over to his jeans.

He tears the condom packet with his teeth and slips it on before hooking her ankle, tugging her down the bedspread and tapping lightly at her side.

"Turn over, lass." She does as she's told, flipping on to her stomach, her feet falling to the carpet outside of his. He presses lightly between her shoulder blades until her elbows rest on the mattress and exhales a shaky sigh into her neck. "The bus doesn't allow much room for me to take you like this," he whispers into her neck, his hand tapping lightly at the inside of her thigh until she spreads her legs further. She groans when she feels him pressing against her. "That first night, I thought about bending you over that table in the kitchen - _fuck_."

She presses back against him until he slips inside her, reaching back and gripping the back of his leg and pulling until he's fully settled. His breath puffs hot against her neck and he rolls his hips, an experimental press against her that has her biting the inside of her cheek and fisting her hand in the stark white comforter.

He feels amazing.

"Emma," he mutters and then he begins to move, shallow thrusts that are already building her up again. His hand wedges beneath her hips and his fingers press at where they're joined, the heat building to a dull roar, her skin already sensitive from one orgasm, it seems he's intent to draw out another.

His hips begin to move with more intent as her moans grow in frequency - thick, heavy strokes that push her further in the bed. His skin slaps against hers with every rough push, the hair on his thighs ticking the smooth skin of hers.

It's frantic and needy and desperate and everything she has been craving since she crawled into his bunk and pretended she didn't know what she was doing.

"Killian."

"Are you close, love?"

His voice is strained as his hips push harder still, his fingers sloppy against her clit. She practically sobs, teetering right on the edge.

He curses and pulls out, flipping her over again. She practically claws at him as she shifts her way up the bed, dragging her with him, spreading her legs wide and hooking her foot behind his knee as he pushes back into her with a delicious groan.

"It seems a waste - " he pants with a smile, her mouth busy on the underside of his jaw. "To not fully use the bed."

"I thought that was what later - _god _\- " he's found a spot within her that makes pinpricks of heat dance along her skin, settling between her thighs and in the tips of her breasts. His grin is devious as she arches her back and he hitches her hips up, pressing into the spot over and over. "I thought that was what later is for."

"I also wanted to see your face when you come." he supplies with a pinch to her nipple, a rough twist between thumb and forefinger that has him picking up the speed of his hips, her leg sliding higher against his side. A bead of sweat drops from his nose to between her breasts, a look of furious concentration on his face as she scrambles for purchase against him, trying to hold on because -

God, it's good.

She comes with a near-silent gasp against his neck when his teeth press into her collarbone, her body locking down around him as he continues to chase his pleasure. She's not even aware of the way he grinds out her name and presses his fingers into her hip as he ruts against her, too focused instead on the hazy pleasure rocking through her bones.

He collapses against her, fingers tangled in her hair.

She drags her hand up and down his bare back, stretching her legs out.

"You know," he nuzzles further into her neck, fingernails scratching at her scalp. She practically purrs before she catches herself. "We don't have to be back on the bus for a couple days."

He hums in consideration, not moving from his place splayed above her. She grins.

"We could try out the shower."

"I like the way you think, Swan."

"And now, when we do go back on the bus - "

He balances on his elbows, a sleepy and sated smile tugging at his lips. "Aye," his sigh is long-suffering and she rolls her eyes. "I suppose I can now have you on the bus."

She smirks. "Good."


	3. Chapter 3

_I don't care I'm down for what you want_

-/-

He does this thing with his tongue when he plays – sliding it along his bottom lip in a slow, deliberate brush as his fingers work furiously over his guitar. She can see it better when they're in the studio and not at a venue, but tonight she decided she would watch from the crowd and halfway into their set he does it and _fuck_ – she's at the perfect angle to see the hollow of his throat and the flash of his teeth as he bites down on his lip.

It doesn't help that they're playing _that_ song – the one with the slow, steady beat that makes her stomach drop and hips sway from side to side. The one that makes her _want_.

And tonight she is pretending – wearing one of their concert tees that Elsa reconstructed into something showing way too much skin, her cell phone turned off and tucked away somewhere in the bus – a night to just relax and celebrate all the good things that have come their way since that show in Brooklyn where they were fucking amazing and that producer took notice and –

– and everything _finally_ came together.

She tilts her head back as the drums kick in, fingers sifting through her long blonde strands as she pulls it up off her neck and gives into the urge to sway to the music. She knows he spotted her earlier – eyebrows jumping up in delight, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as his gaze lingered on the shirt she was wearing. That grin slowly faded over the course of the evening as she moved to the music and he saw just how modified the shirt was, his eyes growing dark and heated, focused intently on the skin at her side exposed by the deep cuts Elsa had made.

(She had wondered why Elsa was smiling like a moron when she handed it over, chuckling under her breath and side-eyeing Killian with a smirk.)

If she closes her eyes, she can hear Killian's voice in the backup vocals and she smiles, twisting her body to the beat, dropping her hands from her hair to grip the railing in front of her. The rum she had earlier makes her feel loose, the swivel of her hips matching the lazy strum of his guitar. She imagines his fingers are playing her instead, thinking of the sure way he touches her – calloused fingers sliding over her stomach, her breasts, the inside of her thighs.

When she opens her eyes he's staring at her, his tongue doing that thing.

When the song finishes, Leroy appears in front of her.

"You're being requested backstage." He has to shout to be heard over the music, his face the same disgruntled mask it usually is. Her eyes flicker to Killian and back again, smile wide when Leroy just rolls his eyes in apparent disgust.

"Is that so?"

Leroy huffs out a sigh the dispels his lack of approval and grabs her arm, carefully extricating her from the crowd and leading her to the black door to the left of the bar. The noise immediately dulls as soon as she steps into the dark and narrow hallway, and she can hear Leroy muttering under his breath as he leads her to where the guys' rooms are.

(Rooms. They're finally big enough where the get multiple _rooms_.)

Leroy deposits her with another disapproving shake of his head and she busies herself with finding the bottle of rum Killian keeps in his bag while the band finishes their last two or three songs. She's so intent on finding it at the bottom of his duffle that she doesn't have a chance to react as he comes storming through the door, kicking it shut behind him and throwing the lock before crowding her against the wall, his breath hot on her neck and her hands braced against the cold cement.

"Just what," his hands shake on her hips, his forehead pressed against her shoulder as he pushes her further into the wall. His foot nudges between her legs and _god_ – she's been turned on since the show started, watching him play and bite at his lips and _fuck_ – she wants him. "In the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

"I was – " She swallows hard, trying to keep still and not press her hips back into his. "I was looking for your rum."

His teeth graze her neck and he pulls back. He smells like sweat and his aftershave, his wet t-shirt brushing against the base of her spine. "That's not what I meant." He says softly, one hand leaving her hip to drift along her side, along the bare skin exposed by her shirt. He stops just below her breasts and breathes in sharp through his nose when he doesn't meet any lace. "I meant why is it that you decided it would be appropriate for you to torture me throughout the show? This shirt, Emma – "

He glides his other hand up and fists the soft material. "Bloody hell." He turns her with his grip on her shirt and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from making an embarrassing noise at the look on his face. "Were you trying to accomplish something?"

She raises her hand and thumbs at the scar on his cheek, nudging her hips forward until they press against his. He hisses through his teeth, but otherwise remains still, eyes still dark and intense on her own. There's a quiet sort of fury there – in the set of his gaze and the clench of his jaw – a desperation that she's not so sure she should have invoked quite so thoroughly. But then his hips press back against hers and she reconsiders. "I think it's clear what it was I was trying to accomplish." She can feel the bulge in his pants, the heavy thrust of his erection against her. She grins. "And I think I was successful."

He leans forward until his nose brushes hers. "Do you think this a game, sweetheart?" His hand releases her shirt and slides beneath, thumb grazing over her belly button while he holds her flat with the hand still pressed between her breasts. "Do you think it funny to drive me absolutely mad with want while I can do nothing about it?"

She can't help her chuckle, the buzz of alcohol still giving her that floating sensation. "Yes." Her grin spreads wider at his huff of consternation. "I think it's very fun – "

She cuts off abruptly on a moan when his hand slides down her stomach and into her pants, his fingers finding her skin slick, his heel grinding against her with rough jerks of his hand. "Well then perhaps," He rubs a bit faster and her knees buckle, hands scrambling for purchase against his shoulders. He stops just as quick as he started though, pulling his hand back, fingers teasing her, and she makes a frustrated noise at the back of her throat. "Perhaps I should leave you like this." His thumb presses so tight against her hip that she'll probably have bruises tomorrow. "Perhaps you should know what it's like to want and not be able to have."

It seems she might have pushed him a step too far because he's practically vibrating against her, still with that angry locked jaw and furrow between his brows. She drags her thumb over his scar again and tilts her head, deciding to let the game go. "I already know what that's like." She whispers and his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. "It happens every time we're at a concert, or an appearance, or a shoot."

"Aye?"

She fumbles for his belt buckle, working at the stiff leather. "Yeah. I'm used to holding myself back around you."

The hard look in his eyes fades slightly, but his fingers are no less bruising against her. "And what is it that you wish you could do?"

She smiles, flicking at the button of his jeans with her thumb, delighting in the groan that rumbles through his chest. "A lot of things."

"Could you tell me?"

She isn't used to talking in the bedroom (dressing room, _whatever_) – usually that's his game – and color floods her cheeks as she tries to find the words he wants to hear. It seems her little game earlier played on some sort of insecurity of his because he has that look in his eyes he sometimes gets when they have a bickering match or she lets her own ghosts catch up to her. Lowered eyelids and a painful twist to his lips – he looks like he needs a little bit of reassurance.

"Sometimes, at concerts," She lowers the zipper of his jeans. "I think about, um, I think about – "

He releases his grip on her hip. "It's okay, Swan, you don't have to – "

"I think about you fucking me on top of the speakers." She rushes quickly, holding him to her with her fingers through his belt loops. This isn't her thing, but there's something to be said for the way his hips instinctively rock against her in response to her words. "I wanted you to, that day. Do you remember?"

He swallows hard, nodding, brushing her hair away from her neck and mouthing at the place between shoulder and neck. "And tonight?"

"Tonight I thought about you fucking me." She grins, knowing it's not the level of detail he typically uses. His words are flowery – detailed descriptions of how he wants to spread her thighs and bury his head between them, of how he wants to mark her with his teeth and tongue until she is a trembling mess beneath him.

She always has been much more to the point.

His teeth clamp down on the sensitive skin of her neck and she gasps, arching her back and forcing the hand resting between her breasts to move, sliding to the left with his thumb just barely grazing her nipple. She makes a whimpering sound that she sounds suspiciously like _please_ and he adjusts his hand to pinch her nipple roughly, murmuring against her neck.

"It's all I could bloody think about," She pushes at the hem of his jeans until she can take his length in her hand, knowing they don't have the time or patience to undress. She curses her insistence on wearing jet black leggings tonight, especially when he pushes his hips against her, erection nudging at the hollow ache between her thighs, the sensation muted by the layers between them.

"Fuck," She grinds out and then pushes him back, sucking in heaving breaths through her nose as she works her leggings over her hips. The damn things were practically painted on in the first place so she settles for leaving them around her upper thighs, turning and bending at the waist, bracing her palms flat against the wall. "We need to be quick."

In a move that could only be described as malicious, he slips his cock between her clenched thighs – the ability to spread her legs restricted by her pants – thrusting back and forth lightly without giving her any sort of friction. Just a tease as he grips her hip and ruts against her.

"How is it that – " He angles his hips up to hit her clit with every smooth glide and her hands curl into fists against the wall. " – we always find ourselves – " She swivels her hips in a circle and his groan presses against the base of her spine, rolling up over her shoulders to the tips of her breasts, his hand still playing with her nipple beneath the flimsy scrap of a shirt she's wearing. " – in situations where I can't be allowed the freedom of your fully naked body and the delicious noises you make."

"Killian, please, I just need you to – "

"Bend over a bit more." She does as she's told, a thrill pulling at her belly at the gruffness in his voice, at the way he seems to be teetering on the thin precipice of control. That's what she had intended when she pushed her way to the front row with a barely there shirt on, and the anticipation has goosebumps rising on her arms.

Goosebumps that get goosebumps when he pushes into her, teeth sharp on her shoulder.

She tries to be quiet, she really does, but the whimpered grunts and murmurs of her name leaving his lips every rough thrust has her barely holding on to sense. She moans loud when his hand smacks at her ass, doing her best to push back against him harder.

"Fuck you're tight like this." The hand on her breast slides down her belly to play over her clit, his access restricted by her legs still pressed tight together. But it doesn't matter because the forceful press of his hips and the pressure of his hand have her spiraling, one hand leaving the wall to tangle in his hair as the hum in her blood grows to a dull roar, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until –

"God, Killian. I – "

"That's it." His voice sounds far away, tinny beneath the haze of his body against hers. "Isn't this what you wanted? Me to fuck you?"

He growls the words with a dirty grind of his hips against her ass and she's gone – her orgasm crashing over her as she sags forward in his grip, forehead resting against the wall with a sob. It rises like a wave and pulls at her until all she knows is the feel of his jeans biting into her thighs, his hands clawing at her hips as he moves erratically behind her. Tiny pinpricks of pleasure pulse at her skin as she peaks and then falls, chest heaving.

They rest against the wall as the world slowly comes back into place around them. She feels a press of his lips against the blossoming bruise on her neck, his hands gentle as he straightens her back up and turns her carefully in his grip.

He fingers the soft grey material of her concert tee between thumb and forefinger, cheeks flushed, smile sleepy and sated. "I like your shirt."

She bumps her nose against his with a laugh, fingers tangling with his free hand. This man. This lovely, idiot man. "Yeah, I thought you might."


End file.
